


The Silence Between Us

by trajektoria



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 00:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13693239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trajektoria/pseuds/trajektoria
Summary: Reyes’ worst fear comes to pass – Scott sees his true ugly self. Everything falls apart.





	The Silence Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who is the best beta ever. You rock! <3
> 
> This fic was a bit experimental. Tell me if you liked it. Kudos and comments and very much appreciated!

The Charlatan. Elusive leader of the Collective and virtually the ruler of Kadara Port since Sloane Kelly’s untimely demise. A person – or people – shrouded in secrecy, their identity undisclosed even to those high in the criminal hierarchy with only a few select exceptions. It was best that way, of course. True power lay far from the spotlight where you could operate freely, unbound by expectations or opposition.

Sometimes, though, the mysterious Charlatan had to take matters into their own hands. And get those hands dirty.

Reyes slid his finger along the blunt edge of a knife, letting it glint ominously as it reflected the light from a single lightbulb. Theatrics, all of it was theatrics. A small, claustrophobic room with metal walls bearing old brownish stains, more dried blood than rust. And in the middle of it a pale man on a chair, too proud or too smart to jerk at the rope that tied his arms brutally to the armrests. He glared at Reyes with hatred stronger than any words. One of the last Outcasts still holding a grudge.

“Vidal. It was you all along, you fucking piece of–”

“Silence.” Reyes’ golden eyes were glacial and his tone of voice even colder. The man in the chair obeyed despite himself. Such was the power of the Charlatan’s charisma. “I’m interested in only one thing. That bomb in the marketplace. Five people killed, seven injured. I know you planted three more.”

“How–” The man started, taken aback, but Reyes didn’t let him finish.

“I _know_. And now I want to know _where_ you planted them. And when they will go off.”

The man snorted and spit right under Reyes’ feet.

“Suck my dick.”

“You’re not worth a treat like that.” One swift motion, almost casual, and the blade pierced right through the middle of the man’s hand. He howled in pain, blood dripping on the floor, his body in spasmatic throes of agony. “Tell me.”

“F-fuck you!”

Reyes twisted the knife in the wound, tearing the tendons and mutilating the flesh. The Outcast shrieked, tears glistening in his tortured eyes.

“Tell me.” Reyes repeated levelly, no hints of compassion nor enmity. “Or I’ll start peeling off your fingernails, one by one. Slowly. And then feed them to your wife.”

The creak of hinges, loud enough to sound above the desperate screaming of the Outcast. The slightly ajar door had been opened fully.

The Charlatan froze. His heart stopped in his chest, the air burned in his lungs. He closed his eyes. Opened them again. Turned around.

No one should be here. No one knew about this place, no one had access, aside from a handful of people he trusted.

Scott among them.

There he was. Lingering at the threshold. Those blue eyes opened wide in shock. Horror and disappointment were painted on his face, heartbreak palpable in the quiver of his lip, in the last sparks of disbelief fading away to be replaced by a dreaded realization as his gaze moved from Reyes to the captured man and back, sliding across the puddle of blood. 

Reyes said nothing. There was nothing to say. No excuse, no lie to deny the darkness within him, to sugarcoat the violence and cruelty. The truth had been laid bare before Scott.

The silence stretched between them, the silence louder than the Outcast’s screams and curses.

Scott turned around and walked away, the door slamming shut behind him.

Reyes closed his eyes. Opened them again, quashing his sorrow. Lives were at stake. His people, his city, his planet.

He pulled the knife from the man’s hand. Tore off the fingernail from his thumb. From his index finger. The middle one. As he was reaching for the fourth digit, the Outcast told him everything. Reyes sent out his spies to confirm the information provided. It checked out. The bombs were found and disarmed. No one else would die that day.

None but one. Reyes put the knife between the man’s ribs. A mercy killing. A swift blow and even quicker death.

No one else would die that day.

Love had already died.

Anxious and on edge, Reyes went to Tartarus. Didn’t even know why there of all places. Maybe his subconscious guided him. Maybe somehow he knew that Scott would be there, seeking some comfort in what used to be familiar.

Scott was indeed there. Sitting on the couch in Reyes’ room, his gaze fixed to the floor. In full armor, but so vulnerable and so young.

Reyes wanted to say so many things, explain everything, assure him that his blood-soaked hands could still touch him gently, every caress one of worship and adoration. That the things he had to do could never change the things his heart longed to do, could never stain or taint what was between them. 

He said nothing. The words didn’t want to form on his tongue, didn’t want to squeeze through his throat. He sat right next to his wronged lover and let the silence speak for him.

Scott looked at him. Finally. Hurt, so much hurt in his eyes. And silence. Heavy like chains dragging Reyes to the bottom of the pit of despair.

Scott stood up. One more glance, even heavier than the silence, heavier than both bleeding, crestfallen hearts. He left the room. He was gone.

An hour later the Tempest left Kadara.

Reyes didn’t contact Scott, giving him space, time to think. Words couldn’t change anything, only feelings could do that, he knew.

The silence grew.

A day. A week. A month. Two.

The silence grew and with it the distance between them.

Reyes reached out, sorrow overpowering the pride and the fear. A message. A vid call. An old-fashioned letter delivered by one of his contacts on Elaaden. Just a few words.

_I miss you, Scott. Thinking of you always. Please._

No apologies. He wasn’t sorry. The end justified the means.

All messages were read. All were left unanswered.

The silence grew. As did despair and solitude. 

Reyes reached out to Scott’s teammates. To his sister. To SAM.

Nothing. Just reports from his own men of where the Pathfinder and his crew were stationed at the moment. They seemed to travel across the whole cluster, but gave Kadara a wide berth.

Reyes spoke to no one about how he felt, even to Keema. His festering torment was his own. Keema knew anyway, but was too perceptive to breach the subject with him.

Days passed, sour and lonely. A king with a heavy crown, iron hand, and a broken heart.

Time flew by, the silence his new reality.

Three months.

The Tempest landed in Kadara Port. For the first time Reyes dared to hope, waiting in Tartarus, drumming his fingers against the table as he drank one whiskey after another to drown the anxiety, the doubts, the longing.

The Pathfinder team went straight to Ditaeon, never straying into the slums.

So that was it. Truly and irrevocably over.

Reyes got blind drunk that night. In the morning he woke up on Keema’s couch, having no memory of going to her place. She didn’t tell nor did she ask any questions.

Life went on.

Two days later Reyes received a message. Sent from the Pathfinder’s omni-tool. No words, just a string of numbers. Coordinates, ones so familiar that Reyes didn’t even have to check them to confirm the location. 

Ditaeon. The Pathfinder’s house, to be exact.

Without delay, Reyes jumped into a shuttle and flew to the outpost as fast as his ship could go. It was dark by the time he reached his destination, but no one stopped him on the landing zone. He went straight to the Pathfinder’s house.

The door was unlocked. He entered, his anxious heart louder than his footsteps.

_Scott_ …

Just there, in the pale glow of the dimmed lightbulb. He didn’t look good. No, he was hurting. Dark circles under his soulful eyes, the corners of his lips turned downwards, his favorite shirt crumpled and hanging too loosely on a body that had lost far too many pounds. And Reyes knew that Scott could see him in the same way, a shadow of the man he used to be, broken by the silence. 

And yet the silence grew ever still. Reyes didn’t feel worthy to break it. They stared at one another, all the ‘was’ and ‘ifs’ swirling in their heads, all the flashbacks to much happier times before the truth became too blatant to ignore.

It was up to Scott now. To his ability to turn his head the other way. No, that wasn’t how Scott could live his life, his conscience wouldn’t let him. It was either accept and forgive or forget and part ways. Scott’s choice would determine the fate of both of them.

Reyes waited, the silence eating away at him.

Scott took a hesitant step towards him. And another. And another, the same longing mirrored in Reyes’ eyes emboldening him to keep going. The distance shrunk from an infinity to just a couple of inches.

Scott threw his arms around his neck just as Reyes locked him in a tight embrace.

Two people who had lost each other and been found again. Neither speaking because the warmth, the touch, the mingling breaths could say so much more. Forehead against forehead, eyes closed, they rediscovered one another, formed the connection anew, better, stronger, wiser.

Scott kissed him first. Reyes kissed back with all the emotions that finally broke through the dam of self-control.

They made love that night, desperate, retaking the time they lost. All in complete silence, save from gasps and moans filling the bedroom.

Scott had fallen asleep afterwards, calm as he hadn’t been in months, of that Reyes was sure. Watching his peaceful face, stroking his hair gently, Reyes felt that something had changed, something had mended. They had built a bridge over the abyss, finally able to reach one another again.

The silence grew, but Reyes didn’t mind. This silence was of the good kind.


End file.
